


Missing Scenes

by Quills_and_Inkpots



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-01-07 00:25:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quills_and_Inkpots/pseuds/Quills_and_Inkpots
Summary: A collection of missing scene drabbles (traditionally 100 words in length though most of these surpass that).  The scenes are in no particular order, each "chapter" is a separate scene, the chapter title is the prompt and the summary is the book the missing scene is from.





	1. Howler

**Author's Note:**

> I may update and add more. Please let me know if you are intrigued or really love any of these scenes and would like to read more, I may be inspired to hash it out into a longer fic! :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Order of the Phoenix

Fred and George had been hard at work all morning shifting stock in the backroom of the shop at number 93 Diagon Alley. All was quiet except the occasional sneeze from stirred up dust and the sounds of wooden crates, laden with the outcome of countless hours of their work, landing heavily on the stone floor. They had propped the ancient window open with a defective trick wand in the hopes of bringing in fresh spring air to cool the perspiration on their brows. Usually they would do this sort of thing by magic, but the risk of dropping a crate and damaging their products was one they wouldn't take the day before their shop was due to open.

A sudden sound of wings drew their attention as Errol entered in through the open window and flew headfirst into the nearest stack of crates containing boxing telescopes, landing as a lump of pathetic gray feathers at the bottom.

"Bloody owl, who sent you all this way?" Fred asked, abandoning his crate and approaching the geriatric owl with exasperation. That was when he saw it- bright red and attached to Errol's leg was a howler. He no longer wondered who had sent the owl. Pulling the envelope free he called to his twin, "oi Gred!"

"Yes Forge?" George didn't bother to look over from the stack of crates that he was shifting.

"Our dear mother has written to us," the envelope was already smoking at one corner and growing hotter in his hands.

"What does she say? 'Congratulations on your spectacular exit from Hogwarts, you've made the family proud?'" 

"I'm not sure, but we're both about to find out," he opened and let go of the burning letter, and almost instantly Molly Weasley's voice was thundering throughout the tiny space.

"FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY! HOW COULD YOU BE SO RECKLESS? SWAMPS AND FIREWORKS AND TERRORISING A TEACHER? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING? YOUR FATHER AND I HAVE ENOUGH ON OUR PLATES WITH THE ORDER AT THE MOMENT WITHOUT THIS JOKE SHOP RUBBISH! I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE ASHAMED OF THE PAIR OF YOU! YOU WILL FLY BACK TO HOGWARTS AT ONCE TO BEG NOT TO BE EXPELLED! YOU WILL CLEAN UP THAT SWAMP AND YOUR ACTS AND THERE WILL BE NO MORE TALK OF QUITTING SCHOOL!"

The envelope smoldered and dissolved into ashes at Fred's feet, his ears ringing in the sudden silence.

"Well that was pleasant," George said cheerfully, "how shall we respond?"

"Clearly she's upset she hasn't received an invitation to the Grand Opening," Fred answered with a smile.

"How rude of us to forget to invite the guest of honour, we'd better remedy that," George answered turning back to his crates.

"Indeed," Fred said, helping the exhausted bird to his feet.


	2. Fireplace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deathly Hallows

It was a particularly cold and rainy evening at Shell Cottage, and Hermione was perched on the edge of the chair by the fireplace, letting the leaping flames chase away the chill both in her body and her heart.

She heard someone clear his throat behind her. Startled, she wiped away a tear and looked up as Ron crossed the sitting room and braced himself against the mantle.

"Alright 'Mione?" Ron stood just a few feet from her, tall and illuminated by the warm light of the fire.

"Yes, it's just..." Her throat felt thick and she couldn't make herself say Dobby's name.

"I know," Ron responded, his voice just above a whisper.

The room was silent except the crackling of the fire and the beating of the rain on the windowpane.

"I think that's what I want to do, when this is all over," she said after a long moment. "I want to fight for the rights of magical creatures."

He nodded, a small smile on his face.

"You think that's stupid, don't you? More 'SPEW' nonsense?"

His eyes looked sad for a moment, "no, Hermione, I've never thought anything was less stupid. If anyone can do it, it's you."

The eye contact between them was warm and full of feeling, and Hermione felt the blood in her cheeks. There was something in his gaze that made her wonder, for just a second, if he might... 

"Ron," came a voice from the doorway, startling them both.

"Yeah, Bill?" Ron turned to face him and Hermione released a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Could you give me a hand?"

"Sure," Ron answered automatically, and Hermione wondered if she imagined it or if he sounded as disappointed as she felt. 

Bill turned away and Ron made to follow him, surprising her by squeezing her shoulder gently as he passed on his way out of the room.

Suddenly she felt warmer, and it wasn't because of the fireplace.


	3. Typewriter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Order of the Phoenix

"It's a muggle machine my dad is messing with," Ginny said, watching Luna examine the old typewriter on the workbench in front of her.

"How does it work?" Luna asked curiously. 

Ginny crossed the small space until she was close enough to Luna to smell her citrusy perfume.

"I think you touch it here," Ginny answered, reaching a finger to push a key, causing the stamp to rise up and imprint the letter L on the parchment.

Luna reached out and pressed a button, leaving a G. 

"Very pretty," Luna responded, her eyes leaving the typewriter and surveying Ginny's face.


	4. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deathly Hallows

It was another miserable day in the tent. It had been too cold, windy, and rainy to search the forest and scavenge for wild foods. So Harry laid in his bed, stomach aching with emptiness reminiscent of his time with the Dursleys- of long, hollow, hungry days. He had thought he was an outcast then, but maybe this was worse- hiding from the whole wizarding world, with even less to eat. 

His only real home was Hogwarts, and maybe even at this moment the tables there would be laden with an assortment of the most delicious foods he could imagine. Was that where Ron was now? Or maybe he was tucked away safely at the Burrow, the only other place Harry had considered a home. He felt a pang as he wondered if he would ever return there. To Mrs. Weasley's warm affection and Ginny’s soft arms. 

It all seemed so far away to him right then that he could believe it had all been a dream. Maybe it was. Maybe he was sleeping and if he opened his eyes he would be back under the stairs at number 4 Privet Drive. 

"Harry?" Came Hermione’s voice, creaky from disuse. He couldn't remember the last words they'd spoken to each other, so lost were they both in their own despair.

"Hmm?" Harry mumbled, he opened his eyes and looked up to see her standing just feet away. He hadn't heard the tent flap move when she came into the boys' sleeping area. She was looking at Ron's abandoned bed. Harry could see her cheeks were tear-stained and her eyes puffy, the locket hanging heavy on her neck.

She didn’t say anything in response, just made a few steps toward him, reached a hand out for his blanket, and to Harry's surprise, lifted it and climbed under the blanket with her back to him. 

He was a bit shocked, but shifted to make room for her, unsure what he should say or do. Their bodies were close though not quite touching. He could smell the faint scent of her hair and feel that she was shaking slightly. For a long moment the only sound was the wind howling and rain pounding against the tent walls. 

Then a gasping sob escaped from her and Harry felt like there was a weight on his chest. She was crying into his pillow, and Harry didn't know how to comfort her.

He reached a hand out tentatively to rub her arm, small, slow, hopefully soothing movements, from her elbow to her shoulder, and before long she was relaxing slightly, her sobs shorter, quieter. Harry continued the soothing movement, straying further down her arm, almost to the wrist draped across her waist. 

She rolled toward him then and they were face to face. Harry felt almost alarmed at her sudden nearness, looking into her sad brown eyes, her eyelashes clumped with tears. "Why couldn't it have been you Harry? Why didn't I just fall in love with you?"

The question made him feel unsettled, but Harry felt the pain in her words. He contemplated his response for just a moment, "we get along too well, I think."

She laughed out loud in spite of her tears, "that must be it," she said, but the humour was hollow. Neither one of them knew what to say next. 

They just laid, heads close on the lumpy pillow, looking at one another, eyes searching the other's face. Hermione was gazing at him sadly, steadily, and then she was pressing her lips against his.

He hesitated for just a second as his brain tried to make sense of it, but he pushed his doubt and concern away and kissed her back. It was clumsy at first, then as she relaxed and pulled herself in closer he found he was kissing her with something akin to desperation. 

He had forgotten what it felt like to have human contact, had forgotten the warmth of a soft feminine body against his, to be touched as gently as Hermione’s hands were touching him now on his upper arms. He luxuriated in the comfort of it, his body ached for more contact, for a reminder that he was human, that he was alive. 

As he lifted a hand into her thick hair the image of Ginny rose to his mind, of their bodies pressed together in Ginny’s room on Harry's birthday. Ginny. His mind and body ached for Ginny. He felt the sinking sensation in his stomach and slowly pulled back from the kiss.

Hermione's expression was sad, a tear seeping out of the corner of her eye and trailing to her temple. "Ginny?" She asked.

Harry nodded. "Ron?" 

She nodded too and dissolved into tears. Harry sighed and put his arms around her. He pulled her toward him, tucking her head under his chin, and just held her, comforting her. His own tears fell fat and hot down his cheeks and into her curls as the storm beat on just outside.


	5. Spooky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goblet of Fire

There was a sharp, damp chill in the night air and Cho could smell the mixture of dying leaves and chimney smoke as she stood shivering in the shadow of the Forbidden Forest. She cast a glance around for Cedric, wondering if he'd been caught up in more champion admiration on his way out of the Halloween feast. 

They had agreed to meet here at their usual spot, a small alcove of trees that bordered the forest and provided unparalleled privacy for what she hoped would be more than his usual polite snogging.

Somewhere in the forest behind her a twig snapped. "Ced?" She whispered, turning uncertainly in the direction of the noise. There was no answer. She felt a thrill of fear, knowing that Cedric would never break the rules by going into the forest. 

Again, a sound, this time closer, and resembling the sound of footsteps and something being dragged. She backed away, not daring to take her eyes off the dark treeline and eerie shadows. She jumped and shrieked as she backed abruptly into something solid that suddenly enveloped her.

"You're jumpy tonight," Cedric smiled into her ear from behind, winding his hands around her waist. 

She was still breathing heavy, heart hammering, "Merlin Ced, don't do that!" 

He kissed her neck from behind, "do what?" He murmured into her soft skin.

"The forest! You know I don't like pranks."

He pulled away, and looked into her eyes, expression serious, "I know that, you know I wouldn't do anything to frighten you. Did something happen?"

She felt fear trickling through her again and cast a glance into the forest. "No, let's just get out of here."

As the two figures retreated back into the dark towards the castle, Mad-Eye Moody watched from the forest's edge with a malevolent glare in the teenagers' direction.


	6. Turkey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half-Blood Prince

Neville pushed out of the Great Hall with the chattering crowd leaving the holiday feast. His mind was on turkey and stuffing as he turned the corner down an empty corridor, and saw someone standing alone examining an evergreen bunting above her. 

"Hello Luna," he called as he approached her.

"Shh, you'll frighten them." 

"Who?" Neville asked, drawing even with her and looking up.

"The nargles," she whispered.

"That's mistletoe," Neville responded, confused.

She sighed, "fine!" And before he knew it she had pecked him quickly on the lips, "now will you shush?"

Neville, cheeks flaming, couldn't say a word.


	7. Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deathly Hallows

“Merlin what I wouldn’t give for a proper cup of tea,” Ron said moodily staring down into the remnants of nettle tea in his cup.

“You could try being grateful you have anything at all,” Hermione answered sharply. She had gathered the spiky leaves earlier that day, it was the only thing she had been able to find in her search for anything edible in the forest. 

Grateful was the last thing Ron felt. The tea was earthy and bitter, and though the warmth of it was somewhat comforting it only accentuated the hunger gnawing in the pit of his stomach. “What? I’m not allowed to miss things now?” He said irritably.

“Ron we’re tired of hearing you complain about food, you don’t think we’re hungry too?” Hermione matched his irritation.

‘We’ Ron thought. It was always ‘we’ when Hermione talked about her and Harry. Harry never complained about the tea, the food or the lack thereof. Harry just sat quietly and contemplatively on those long days of hunger, Hermione buried her nose in a book, and Ron was sat there with nothing to distract him from his discomfort and anxiety over what was going on at home or Hogwarts. The silence was almost worse than the hunger. 

He knew this wasn’t exactly how he’d pictured spending his seventh year, but he’d known that when he’d volunteered to go with Harry on the hunt for Horcruxes. Somehow, at that time it seemed more like an adventure or a quest, something with a purpose; rather than a series of meandering cold, hungry, and miserably silent days spent just waiting. Waiting for what? Didn’t Harry have some kind of plan? Sure they had the locket now, but what good was it hanging around their necks like a prison ball and chain? They couldn’t destroy it, and they were stuck moving from place to desolate place until they could figure out how. Ron thought it more likely they would starve to death first.

Though he’d never admit it, sometimes, especially on days like this day when it was his turn to wear the bloody locket, Ron wished he’d never volunteered to come. It was an awful thought, he knew, but Ron had been feeling little else than awful these past weeks. When he thought of his family, or Hogwarts, or his four-poster, and especially when he thought of the feasts. And Hermione, he missed her too, which was a strange thought to have when they spent all of every day mere feet away from one another. He missed the sound of her laughter, the gentle way she had teased him, and even when she scolded him about neglecting his studies. He thought longingly of that first night at Grimmauld Place when he had worked up the courage to reach out to her in the dark and she’d let him hold her hand until he heard her breath fall into the even pattern of sleep. There was something there, he had thought, had hoped. But ever since the ministry break-in and fleeing from Grimmauld Place something had changed between them. Now there was this coldness and distance that had grown between them, maybe it was the weight of their mission and the hopelessness surrounding it, or maybe it was the hours she spent theorising and discussing it with Harry, like Ron wasn’t even there. 

Feeling resentful at the thought, Ron poured what little was left of his bitter tea out onto the grass in front of him. Hermione made a noise that might have been a scoff of disapproval or a huff of anger. She stood up and turned away from him, back toward the direction of the tent. 

“Where’re you going?” He prodded, looking over his shoulder to her retreating back.

“Away from you,” she said, and ducked back into the tent. 

He turned back angrily to his empty cup, staring into the swampy mess of green leaves plastered to the bottom, as if they would tell him something of value. He tried to remember what he’d learned about reading tea leaves in Divination, identifying a kind of x created by two overlapping leaves, almost like a cross. He knew he had seen it before, but for the life of him couldn’t remember what it meant. It didn’t matter anyway- nothing did anymore.


	8. Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half-Blood Prince

Quidditch practice was going abysmally, Harry thought, even by the usual standards. The addition of McLaggen to the team had everyone on edge, Harry most of all. He had been circling the goal posts for the duration of practice, only ostensibly looking for the snitch while he kept an eye on McLaggen’s increasingly domineering behaviour.

He watched an offensive play by Ginny, Demelza, and Dean closely to see if McLaggen could manage to pull his head out of his own arse long enough to defend the hoops. He only had a moment to register that McLaggen had actually saved a goal by kicking the quaffle away and towards- 

THWACK! 

Harry released a groan as the deflected ball smashed into his face with considerable force. The shock wore off and pain set in almost immediately, but Harry was more concerned about the crunch of glass that accompanied the impact. Opening his eyes cautiously, he was grateful that the lens, though fractured, was still in one piece, but they weren’t going to be safe for flying.

There were cries around him of “alright Harry?”

Harry waved them away, with a “‘m fine, just need to fix my glasses,” as he tipped his broom toward the ground to land safely before repairing them. The last thing he wanted to do was fall off his broom in front of everyone.

He landed softly on the earth and dismounted, hearing, only a fraction of a second later, the sound of footsteps landing behind him. He turned, “Ginny,” he said, feeling something more than relief and surprise at her appearance.

“Let me see,” Ginny said, approaching him. “You’re lucky it was a quaffle and not a bludger.”

“Yeah, lucky,” Harry said sarcastically.

“I could hex McLaggen, if you like,” she offered, examining his face.

“Don’t tempt me,” Harry replied darkly.

Ginny smirked, raised her hands, and very carefully removed Harry’s broken glasses from his face. Instantly everything blurred. Well, everything except Ginny, who was close enough to be within his limited range of sight. She fixed his glasses with a quick tap of her wand, meeting his eyes as she perched them gently back on the bridge of his nose. 

“Thanks,” he said, swallowing hard, painfully aware of her proximity. She was so close he could count the freckles on her cheeks, if only he could force himself to look away from her eyes. Harry thought they looked golden in the spring sunshine.

“Harry,” she said softly.

“Yes?” He asked, hoping the recent impact would justify how breathless he sounded.

“You’re bleeding on me,” she said, raising an eyebrow with a small quirk at the corner of her lips.

“What?” 

“Your nose, it’s bleeding everywhere,” she raised a blood-spattered hand to show him. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” he said, dazedly.

“It looks like it might be broken,” she said, her tone betraying a little concern.

“Yeah,” he agreed, remembering the terrible crunch when the heavy ball had hit his face as if it had happened to someone else.

“You don’t seem too worried about it,” she noted, still holding his eye contact.

“Not the first time,” he said dismissively.

“Still, you should have it looked at by Madam Pomfrey,” she reasoned.

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” Harry agreed vaguely.

“Ginny!” Dean called from somewhere behind them, and Ginny looked over Harry’s shoulder to him, effectively breaking their eye contact.

“What?” She yelled back. 

“Are we playing or what?”

Harry thought he saw annoyance flit across her face, “yeah, can I make sure our captain’s alright first?”

“I’m fine,” Harry said, though he wasn’t sure if he was, because what he was hit with was something more powerful than a quaffle to the face. It was her steady gaze, her concern, and the scent rising off her heated skin, like a summer field- all windswept earth and sun-warmed flowers. “I’m fine,” Harry said louder, forcing himself to look away from her and back behind him to where Dean hovered nearby. The rest of the team, apparently, was still in the air finishing out their plays.

“Alright then,” Dean said, looking suspicious and bad-natured as he watched Ginny mount her broom again.

He could hear her barbed tones but not her words as she rejoined Dean in the air.

Harry, watching her fly away, was only just then aware of the pain and blood coming from his damaged nose. He cast a freezing charm on his nose, successfully stemming the flow of blood, and remounted his own broom before taking off. 

It was the best practice they’d had in a while, Harry thought.


End file.
